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Monday, 4 June 2012

Dice Games 1 - The Morrigan

It was nothing. A
streak of sunset. An autumn leaf
drifting through the twilight.
Nothing. Just a tawny flash
caught from the corner of my eye.
Nothing.

Say it often enough, maybe it’ll be true.

“It’s not my time.” The words hiss between my teeth followed
by an immediate stab of regret. Acknowledging it makes it real.
Makes it possible.

And I don’t believe in curses.

Not really.

Laughter in the breeze, a tinge of mockery. I’m
coming. The words sound in my head,
clear as though they’d been spoken out loud.
I spin round. Sweat breaks out,
clammy on my skin. A scream bubbled up
in my throat, choked down.

I reach for my phone, then freeze, pinioned by memory. Aunt Cass called me, the night she died. I can still hear the panic streaking her
voice, the rapid blur of her words. “She’s coming! She’s coming Brady.”

But Aunt Cass was delusional. On a secure ward, surrounded by eyes
and ears. Hard to believe she still
found a way to hang herself, even there.

She’s coming Brady.

I’m coming.

Aunt Cass was delusional, like Nan. Strong genetic link, so
they say. Runs in families. But not me, I’m fine. Aren't I?

She’s coming Brady.

Something touches my back and again I turn, jerking like a
marionette. Nothing, no one. The night sky is darkening now. I don’t know why I’m still standing outside,
coatless, feeling the chill. Feeling
afraid. It’s just… the open door looks
dark now. I’m sure I left the light on
inside, I’m sure I did. But it’s
dark.

I take a step towards it.

I hear a laugh.

Behind me. To the
right of me. Someone moving,
circling.

“Who’s there?” It
sounds a shrill squeak in the thick night.
A cruel prank, it has to be.
Someone that knows the family legend, the story of the curse.

I’m coming.

The voice echoes in my ear and I hit out, my fist closing on
nothing but empty air. I don’t believe
in ghosts. I don’t believe in
goddesses. I don’t believe in curses
that barter firstborn daughters away.

Aunt Cass believed in it, that’s why they locked her away. It wasn’t the Morrigan that took her, it was
psychiatrists and ECT and locked wards and orderlies. The nonsense Nana had filled her head with,
the talk of the curse… it was enough to drive anyone mad.

Not me.

Show me the evidence.

The thought steadies me.
Taking a deep breath, I walk in slow, dragging steps to the front
door. Safe.

Reaching the front step I pause, relief flooding me. Home, safe. It will be fine now, always would
have been.

Apart from the flash of red there is nothing. Just
superstition and groundless fears, as insubstantial as smoke.